


Apartment Room 203

by bearmons



Category: Red Velvet (K-pop Band)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-25
Updated: 2019-07-03
Packaged: 2020-05-19 12:09:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19356760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bearmons/pseuds/bearmons
Summary: Irene doesn't really ask for much nor does she expect it. She just goes with the flow of life.Working an overbearing job? Sure, many others do and it pays the bills.Having that one constant friend that makes you want to pull your hair out? Well, does Joy fit that criteria perfectly.Irene is content enough with her life that she doesn't venture far for much more than what she's got, nor does she question things unless they affect her in any direct way. In other words, Irene keeps to herself and likes it that way.But when Joy tells her about her new neighbour, maybe she shouldn't have just brushed it off as the usual boring, useless gossip that Joy loves to relay to her.Apartment Room 203 is right across from hers, and one she'll become frequent with as it becomes a staple in the mundane routine of her life.Or alternatively,Irene leaves her apartment for work just in time to catch the ends of blonde before the door across from her own closes, and peaks out the door after getting ready for bed to see those same blonde ends flutter around the corner.Time seems to be what keeps them apart in what Joy calls the modern day Romeo and Juliet.





	1. The One Where Irene Doesn't Care But Joy Always Knows Best

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: did I really just steal Friends' episode title format? why yes, yes I did.   
> welp, buckle up for the long ride of me never letting irene meet seulgi :))

Irene’s feet are throbbing by the time she makes it to her apartment door. She regrets not changing into her flats after work, especially seeing as the elevator in her apartment complex decided to shit itself of all days.

The weather had hit an all-time high today, as if mother nature wanted to torture them. The literal fiery depths of hell could never compare to her having to leg it up fifteen flights of stairs.

Maybe she should sue her complex. This must fall under some sort of dodgy unkempt maintenance, or just filed under inhumane treatment.

But she makes it, with sweat pooling under her pits and gliding down her temple. Attractive, she knows.

Her sigh of euphoria of making it home turns into a deep sigh of utter tiredness when instead of a dark and empty apartment, she's welcomed with a high cackle drifting from her brightly lit living room.

An annoying laughter that she could only peg to be that of Joy's.

“Don't you have an apartment of your own to live at,” she sluggishly throws out as she passes the girl snacking on her couch, laughing at something that's meant to be humorous from the tv.

“I do, but yours has food. And where food is so am I.”

Irene could only sigh once more. Grabbing a chilled bottle of water from her fridge, she uncaps and chugs it down as she makes her way to the living room.

“Scoot,” she slaps at Joy's legs, demanding the younger woman to make room for her.

They sit there for a while. Joy satisfyingly entertained by the show she's watching and offering Irene the bag of chips, and Irene blanking out, mindlessly munching on whatever she grabs.

Joy lives about a ten-minute walk from her apartment. She had given the younger woman a spare key, for emergencies. She should have known that it would be abused. Sometimes she wonders if she should demand rent money from her, because she sure as hell occupies her apartment more than her own. That or ask for some sort of chip in for groceries, seeing as more than half of Irene’s food ends up in her stomach one way or another.

But she'd never do it. Because whether she'd like to admit it, or have an inkling that Joy herself knows, Irene actually enjoys the company. Sure, she can be annoying more times than not, but it's better than coming home to nothing and waking up to silence. But she'll keep this to herself. No benefit in giving Joy more ammo than she already has.

“Y'know,” Joy begins, shaking Irene from her stupor.

When her friend trails off with no follow up, Irene has to nudge her to pull her back to the conversation she started.

“Apparently you have a new neighbour.”

Random. How Joy knows more than her of what goes around in her complex amazes her sometimes. The perks of being an extroverted people person. Or really, the results of having the nose of a bloodhound keen for any whiff of gossip.

“And you know this how?” She takes the bait.

“Mrs. Riley said so. Moved in this afternoon.”

Pulling teeth, that's what it felt like talking to Joy most times. Being fed tiny nibbles of a bigger story or being tricked into thinking it was a story worth listening to, to begin with, that was the story of Irene’s life with Joy.

“And this interests me how?

One for dramatics, Joy drags the speed of the storytelling by popping not one, not two, but four more chips into her trap before saying, “she's blonde.”

And she's done. Done with the story. Done with Joy. And what should have been decided half an hour ago, done for night.

“I'm going to bed. Turn the lights off when you're done. Don't forget to lock up, because you've forgotten enough times to have had me killed.”

She's barely off the couch before Joy slides her legs back over the cushions. “Night mum,” she sings, eyes entirely engrossed on the tv.

“I'm not your mum,” Irene mumbles as she rounds the couch.

“You feed me like one.”

She closes her bedroom door with a roll of her eyes, “Like I have a choice.”

Irene rolls into bed after washing up. She's tucked in and absolutely tuckered out. As sleep finds its way into Irene’s tired body, the door across her apartment opens. Blonde her flitters through the air as the occupant locks their door and strolls off down the staircase and into the night.

A sight Irene has yet to know she'll be staring at for months to come


	2. The One Where Irene Gets The First Glimpse of Her Neighbour

Cereal for breakfast, how exciting. What's more exciting than bland cornflakes is having to fight Joy for the last of her milk. And Irene only uses milk for breakfast, so she really wonders how she's run out within the first few days of the week. Watching how Joy drowns her flakes like they've committed some crime against her, there's not much to wonder, really.

“I'll buy more on the way home,” Joy splutters behind a mouthful of cereal.

Irene hums as a response, the thought of taking a jab at Joy to discern which home she meant dying quickly on her tongue. She's honestly too tired and the morning heat is making her lethargic. Wasting too much energy on Joy at the start of her day has always ended up being a mistake.

Eating breakfast honestly turns into a chore. Stuck in autopilot, her eyes drift from her sad bowl of dry flakes to her watch. And like clockwork, because old people are sticklers for time, a knock on her door arrives.

There's a beat that passes them. Joy and her share eye contact, waiting to see who'd lose it this time. Stubborn, that's how you'd describe the pair of them. Too stubborn for their own good. Irene too tired to move and Joy too lazy to care. Because really, it's not her apartment, so why should she be the one to answer the door. And Irene gets that thought right off Joy's stupid face when she raises an eyebrow at her.

With a groan, Irene slides off her kitchen stool that wobbles with the change to the distribution of her weight. Joy had fallen off it and chipped one of the legs in the process. Doing what? She has yet to tell Irene. But at this point, she really doesn't want to know what Joy gets up to in her apartment.

Collecting herself, Irene plasters on a small smile, hoping it passes off as genuine, as she opens her apartment door.

“Morning, dear. Came out to get the paper and saw you have yet to grab yours. Thought I'd take it upon myself to deliver it to you.” Plastic, baby coloured curlers still rolled in her greying hair, with an orange fading bathrobe, her elderly neighbour leans in to whisper, “I heard the Hudson boys have been nicking our mails and papers.”

“Nah, I heard it was one of the Ericsson twins. Y'know, the bad twin that looks like she smells like bacon grease.” Joy saddles up beside her like a phantom, her sudden presence and loud voice has Irene jolting on the spot.

“Oh, Joy, good morning dear. I didn't know you were in this morning. Would you like some scones? Fresh out the oven.”

Joy responds with a squeal, pushing by Irene to follow the elderly woman back to her apartment. It doesn't take a genius to know her neighbours love Joy. They most definitely like her more than Irene. And to be honest, she doesn't blame them. Joy just has that charm. Could easily mosey into the crankiest person’s life and they’d be thrilled.

But it would be nice to be offered a damn scone too, she's not going to lie.

“Thanks, Ms Murphy.” She speaks to no one, lifting her rolled up paper as if the woman was still in front of her.

Tossing the paper onto her kitchen island, because Joy reads the paper not her, she glances back at her watch before gobbling down the rest of her cereal.

Somehow, every darn morning, Irene always ends up running late. Was it Joy's presence, her neighbour always having to knock on her door and give small chit chat, or just her zoning out over a bowl of milk barren cereal? Probably a good mixture of all of them, but nothing in her gives much of a damn for her to change her routine. 

Slipping back into her sadistic heels, Irene opens her door just in time for Joy to slip inside with a mouthful, and handful, of scones.

“Paper's on the table,” she mumbles as she makes way to leave.

“Thank you,” Joy sings, shoving a scone into Irene's mouth as they cross paths.

Locking her door before she leaves, because one can never be too safe, Irene tosses her keys into her purse before grabbing the scone from her mouth with a bite, turning around to officially start her day.

And what a way to start it by catching the tail of her new neighbour closing their door. Did they just come out to grab their paper? Irene doesn't know, nor should she really care, but what does catch her interest for a hot second is the tell-tale of a yellow tattoo on the bare calf she had caught a glance of.

She should stop hanging out with Joy. Nosing around in people's personal space isn’t her thing. So, with a shrug, Irene throws her curiosity away before making start with the humid staircase.


	3. The One Where Joy's Idea Actually Works

She walks in on Joy sitting at the kitchen island, contemplating. The waft of home cooked dinner as soon as she opens her apartment door has her stomach grumbling and mouth almost watering. But it comes like a double-edged sword.

Joy only cooks when something is on her mind. And when Irene comes into her kitchen to see her island decked out with an entire roast chicken with stuffing and multiple side dishes? Joy must be thinking up an entire storm.

She grabs two plates and pairs of cutleries for the both of them, sliding Joy her set before going in at grabbing herself a portion of everything. Irene would ask Joy what's on her mind, more out of courtesy than actually curiosity, but it's always better to let her talk in her own time.

It's by the time she's going for round two, because she's hungry and swears Joy should've been a chef instead of a sales director, that her silent companion finally lets out a peep.

“It just doesn't add up.”

Swallowing a good mouthful of mash and gravy, Irene's cutting a slice of her roast before indulging Joy. “What doesn't add up?”

Her fingers swipe her chin like she's some kind of mastermind at work. With a cluck of her tongue, she runs a hand through her hair in frustration. Interesting. It's not often one sees a disturbed Joy. Must be work, Irene assumes.

“Ms Murphy said she never saw her leave. So, she must be home. And I knocked on her door, alright. Even gave her two minutes to answer before knocking again. And Ms Murphy is never wrong. That woman has eyes like a security camera and ears of a professional eavesdropper.”

Irene hasn't been more confused in a while from Joy's rants. And really, half the time what leaves Joy's mouth has her thinking if the woman even has a filtering part of her mind that thinks things through before she speaks.

“What on earth are you on about?”

She starts piling food onto Joy's plate to encourage her to eat, and to make sure she at least has some of the food she's made before Irene gobbles it all up.

“Maybe she's dead.”

From how flat her tone is when she said it, Irene finally puts her fork down. “Okay, start from square one. Who is Ms Murphy spying on now? Who are you annoying this time? And why must they be dead for not opening their door?”

Joy finally looks at her for the first time tonight. A glint in her eyes as she finally drops the main subject of her late night ponder. “Your new neighbour.”

Irene lets out a huff for assuming it was something important. Stuffing the heavenly roast's stuffing into her mouth, Irene just hums for Joy to continue. She should have known, really. Since she's lived here Joy has made it her own personal mission to get to know everyone that lives on her floor. She honestly doesn't know why, because who can actually be bothered. But by no surprise they all seem to enjoy Joy's company. And of course, perks did come with it too. Fed like a favourite granddaughter, treated like the golden child, and nudged discounts if she visits them at their stores, Joy gets it all from her neighbours. So, it isn't a shocker that Joy wants to get to know her new neighbour as well.

“There's no other explanation. Unless, she leaves by the fire escape instead.”

Irene furrows her brows at Joy even contemplating the idea. “Or maybe, just maybe, she's asleep. I don't know, sounds more realistic than hopping out her window.”

“But it's nearly 9pm. And I was knocking at her door at 7. Who's already asleep by then. Even Granny Mary is still alive and kicking at that time. And she's 95!”

Patting her full stomach with a content sigh, Irene lazily gives Joy a shrug. She isn't her neighbour so how would she know what she's up to? “I don't know what to tell you.”

“I haven't even seen her yet,” Joy groans, sinking against the island to play with the food on her plate.

Irene's hand darts out, out of habit, slapping at Joy's hand, “Don't play with your food. Food is for eating, toys are for playing. And, why does it matter so much. You'll run into her sooner or later. You basically live here anyways.”

With a pout of a reprimanded child, she begins forking some peas into her mouth. “I'm just curious, is all,” she mumbles. “You're right, I'll see her eventually. It's not like you've seen her anyways.”

“Well, I didn't say that. I saw her this morning. If you'd even count seeing the shadows of her as having seen her.”

Like her entire world had been flipped with that useless information, Joy flings some carrots into the darkness of her living room with how she jerks on the spot. “What!?”

“You're cleaning that,” Irene gets in before Joy could continue to blow her casket.

“How did you see her before me?”

Irene shrugs once more. It's not like she was keen on catching sight of her neighbour. Unlike someone. She doesn't know what Joy wants from her. She saw what she saw.

“I was leaving for work. She must have come out to grab her paper.”

She doesn't know if she should add the little fact of her neighbour sporting a tattoo, but Irene was never one for mindless gossip, so opting out of it seemed best.

“That's it!”

“What's it?”

“I'll wait for her in the morning. Nothing like running into your neighbour whilst collecting your morning paper.”

“So, you're just going to wait by the door, all morning, in hopes of catching her? Don't think that's running into someone if you're literally waiting for them.”

“You're absolutely right!” Irene can't help but narrow her eyes, because Joy never admits she's right. “I can't be staring through your door peephole all morning. I'll just steal her paper, and when I hear a confused commotion, I'll come out with her paper pretending I got it back from the Ericsson twins! You're a genius!”

Stupid. She's thought it on more than one occasion but tonight especially. For a smart person Joy could be so stupid sometimes. “You're being ridiculous. This is as far as running into someone as it can get. And you can't be stealing people's papers and blaming it on teenagers.” When Joy goes to cut in, Irene raises her hand to stop her. “Even if it is them who are doing it. Don't add to their mess. Can't you just be normal about it.”

Tired, Irene places her dishes into the sink to wash tomorrow. Passing by the quiet Joy, she pats her on the back as encouragement. “It will happen when it happens. Don't force it. It's not like you to. And remember -”

Joy mumbles before she could finish, “Lights off and lock the door. I know.”

Irene smiles lazily heading off to bed.

The smile doesn't stay intact the next morning when she comes into the kitchen and sees two rolled up papers on her island.

“Joy, don't tell me you actually did it.”

Bowl of cereal held higher against her face than it should've been, Joy is obviously avoiding her. With a sigh, and like the responsible adult she is, Irene grabs the paper that isn't hers and heads to the door.

“Irene, wait!”

Ignoring the stamping behind her, she's out the door before Joy could grapple at her. But like children fighting over a toy, Joy has her arms around her before she could drop the paper back on the welcome mat, trying to grab at it as Irene wriggles in her grasp, evading all of her attempts. It isn't until someone clears their throat in front of them that they realised the door to apartment 203 is open.

“May I help you?”

She's smaller than Irene thought. Taller than her, still, but petite, nevertheless. And she's staring at them like they're weirdos. That's when the self-consciousness in Irene kicks in and she elbows Joy in the ribs to let go of her.

“Ahem,” she clears her throat, hoping it'd get rid of the awkwardness. “Your paper,” she stretches her hand out, like she's passing a relay baton.

“Thanks,” she girl drawls.

“You're not blonde.”

Irene elbows Joy in the ribs again. Because dammit, can she not make a fool out of the both of them anymore than they already have?

“I've noticed,” the girl deadpans back.

“Right. Well. We're sorry for disturbing you so early in the morning. Enjoy your day and paper.” Irene starts backtracking to her apartment, not caring that she's stepping on Joy in the process. This whole predicament being her fault entirely, anyways.

The girl hums, staring at the both of them as they stumble their way back into Irene's apartment with a slam of the door. “Weirdos,” she mumbles before heading back in too.

Tossing the paper at the sprawled-out body on the couch, she makes her way through the dark towards the bedroom. “You've got a weird lesbian couple as neighbours, by the way.”

The blonde dozing off on the couch only continues to snore

**Author's Note:**

> also, shameless plugin, my mate and i set up a Loona interactive (detective) game if any of you would like to play! just gon leave it here: https://twitter.com/casebonfire


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